She Remembers
by Goddess-Hope
Summary: [ Harry Potter would have lived ]Ginny remembers this faintly as she attends his funeral.


Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; that belongs to Mrs. JK Rowling.

Notes: A drabble, really. I concocted this in a forum post in about fifteen minutes. Don't go too hard on me, okay?

Warnings: Language, Character Death, Sensitive Issue/Topic pregnancy

**She Remembers **

* * *

Ginny remembers the first time she saw his eyes- his brilliant, emerald eyes. Dazzling, they were deep and enticing; they brought forth vivid color to her world. She remembers when there was nothing but black, white, and gray. No excitement, no adventure hardly ever graced her; until he instigated a wave of color, a wave of emotions to surge within her. It was an _epiphany_.

She remembers.

He was so nice to her, so courteous and polite. He had treated her as if he would treat any other person, as if she were as important to him as Ronald was. And no one had treated her right, not even Bill. They all forgot about her, about little Ginerva Weasley- the youngest child and only daughter of a poor wizarding family.

But he noticed her.

And he paid attention to her!

She smiles.

The moment he kissed her was brilliant: sweet and soft, warm and tender. Ginny will never forget that moment- it was the happiest day of her life. His arms wrapped around her waist carefully and the gentle touch of his caresses swooned her into loving him. And that had frightened her- love. It is the simply emotion that Ginny could never understand, even being a girl. But when she had looked into those emerald eyes once more, Ginevra Weasley felt no more passion for him then she had ever in her entire life.

Ronald had always cast her down, had always warned her that Harry would never like a girl like her, a poor girl and a dull girl. Poor and dull, uninteresting and inexperienced. Poor, poor girl. Ginny had never been so resolute to destroy this image.

- - - - -

And the leaves of October twirled in the air, dancing with the cold wind about his grave. He was always special, always treated with respect and awe- he was a God. The breezy airs of the autumn's weather chills her to the bone, freezing the blood that flows in her veins. His blood, her blood. The soil looks fresh: the black, in-depth shade of his burial gives off the scent of spring, of Earth. She looks momentarily at his grave and drops to her knees before it; the soil stains her knees, her ruffled black skirt flowing in the wind. She doesn't mind as she lightly traces his epitaph, her forefinger scratching gently at his name written.

" You left us too soon "

With the end of the war, the infamous wizard of the age had given up his life for the freedom of others. Perishing in sickness; Harry Potter had fallen ill, the severity of his injuries killing him in the end. For weeks the Gryffindor Boy had proudly resisted his death and wanted nothing more than to live and see and breathe and **love**. And every night, Cho Chang was there next to him- sobbing, dying a little every day at this wonder; she had had two lovers and both were gone from her world in less then a span of three years.

Ginny Weasley was not sure of anything else but this. A boy, a golden boy had been deprived of a life he so desperately wanted. And did he ask for this? For war and death and prophecy and Dark Lords? No. Did any of them ask for this? To perish as a sinner, to be condemned as a saint is to be perpetually remembered. It sickens the freckled girl as she listens to people mention the boy-who-lived, introducing him into their lives themselves and mistaking his humanity for power.

But no matter- Voldemort was dead and the quiet Tom Riddle would never return.

A sour thought makes her purse her lips as Ginny remembers _him._ All of this depression, this devastation and chaos had been ensued because of a simple boy who wanted to be _remembered_ and nothing else. A bitter laugh escapes her lips as she staggers into a slip of a walk, turning her back to his funeral. The quiet weeping and loud moans of fury echo in her ears as she thinks of nothing else but Tom Marvolos Riddle. The stupid boy had fancied himself invincible, trying to earn his place in the world to cover up his poor status. Halfblood, orphaned and unwanted; this facade of great power and false circumstances just happened to bless Fate to him and give Tom Riddle the chance to become Lord Voldemort.

" Ginny? "

She stops, her heart pounding as her hysterical chuckles and laughs turn into tears and choked words. The suppressed angst within her had been dwelling for years now, waiting for the perfect moment to release the magical energy of hate and anger and absolute despair. The beckoned call of her name had been ignored, except for the pause in thought. All feeling was void now, all Ginny has to do was listen- and wait.

" Ginny? "

It was him! It was him! It was him!

She sharply turns around and stares.

Nothing, no one. The sobbing crowd and masked faces wept with their emotions pouring out, revealing their vulnerable souls. Ginny looks around and cries out his name in earnest, just waiting for him to grin and wrap his arms around her once more. But the strong, warm hands that had once held her are folded together in the casket he lay in. Ginny bellows out in madness and throws herself to the ground, lying on her belly and pressed in the hard grass.

A life, a new life.

Breathing in the scent of fresh dew and soft grass, Ginny remembers.

- - - - - - - -

She remembers.

The long days spent in the sun, twisting beneath the cloaked warmth of celebration and happiness. She remains tangled in a heap of a mess with him, limbs and arms and legs sprawled everywhere and fingers unclasped. Hearts are beating and eyes are flickering. She remembers the feeling of his hot breath that tingled her nose, spreading a hot flush into her cheeks. She remembers his lazy grin and his open, blazing emerald eyes.

She remembers.

The terrible nights trapped in long fights and un-salvageable memories. His angry retorts to her weeping vindications. His harsh gaze to her cowering figure. Their lost words and fumbled kisses and spoken apologies. She remembers his unreasonable nightmares and her unforgettable tragedies. She remembers the bruises sporting on their bodies, memoirs of fights before. She remembers his cough and lunges for his safety.

She remembers.

The quiet, lonesome nights without him. He watches her from a far, enjoying the attention Miss Chang gives him. The forced chuckles to her giggles, the quiet flirting and words; she doesn't mind. She pays attention to his sickness, his health without the delusion of him returning. As long as he remembers her, she doesn't remember him.

- - - - - - - -

But now he cannot even dream.

She cannot dream.

Ginny crouches herself into a kneel and watches her peers pay their respects and leave. She witnesses as one by one, his so called friends would sigh and sniff and leave. The roses scattered upon his coffin are bright and smell fresh of life. Ironic. Life for death. And death to life. Ginny rubs her pained stomach and eyes the last couple to leave: Ronald and Hermione. A flash of eyes meet: brown to blue to blue to brown and back again; the Weasley girl understands her brother's request and quietly slinks into the fading sun's darkness. She slowly removes herself from this position and waits for the remainder of the Golden Trio to leave- then she sits next to his headstone.

The men can't bury his body, can't consecrate his burial with hallowed soil. Soil and dirt, it is all the same, isn't it? She scoffs at them and tells them to buzz off before staring at the open casket. His pale skin looks like its been powdered, the flesh covered from every inch in ghost white; his hair is combed back neatly, trimmed nicely and slicked back with oil. The pale pink lips that had kissed her so tenderly was closed tight, no breath falling between them ever again. And his eyes- his eyes! Closed and unreadable, denying Ginny a chance to glimpse into those emerald rings once more.

Another tumble kicks her stomach and Ginny ignores the pain, instead rubbing the tummy with soft hands. Harry could've lived, could've waited to see that she was pregnant.

The son of James Potter and Lily Evans would have started a life of his own, a family of his own. The boy of Albus Dumbledore would have given his life to the world and dedicated himself to helping the Wizarding World. The friend of many would have been there to graduate, to see many of his peers marry and help raise the children of their age.

Harry Potter would have lived.

But Ginny knows that either way, it couldn't have happened. Destiny had always been in store for him in the most wicked ways and she accepts this quietly. Weary eyes linger on his pale skin once more before she looks away and stands. The hand resting on her slender figure rubs her skin again, somehow touching the life growing within her. Sighing, she walks towards the field of blooming flowers- her portkey. The full brightness and loveliness of Nature's pretty children fade away along with the sun. In the glowing darkness, Ginny pauses and hesitates- yearning to run back towards her love and cry.

But she knows that she can't.

In order for her to live, he must live. There is a small chance that the god-fearing man that had once been told to be blessed, would come back again. Ginny bites her lips and smiles. She remembers. She would name their child after him, hoping his dashing good looks would be from _him. _This tiny, inconceivable glimmer of hope gives Ginny doubt; but she knows that the world would always sin and humanity would need to be saved countless times more. They would be waiting for a hero.

And Harry Potter would live again.

- - - - - - - - -

She remembers.

The boy who was named Harry Potter.


End file.
